The Prince of Risk

77

At first he was scared.

After an hour he grew restless.

Now Astor was bored.

He sat on a wooden chair in the center of a vacant two-car garage. He had no idea where he was. There were no windows to look out. The garage door was locked, as was the only other entrance, a single door leading to the house he’d been led through. He looked around. There was a lawn mower, trash cans, a rake. He could hear crickets sawing outside, and the smell of cut grass was rich in the air. He took a sip of water from a liter bottle Daniel had left him. He was hungry, so he knew it was after seven o’clock, which was the hour he ate dinner.

Leaving Manhattan, Daniel had placed a hood over his head. No one spoke during the ride. Left alone with his thoughts, Astor had tried to map his journey by the landmarks he passed. One bridge. One tunnel. A long spell on a highway. But which bridge? Which tunnel? And which highway?

Once more he made a tour of his prison, banging on the garage door, shouting “Help!” as loudly as he could, and repeatedly kicking the door to the house. Sully’s betrayal provided his anger with ample fuel. It did no good. The only result was a ruined shoe and a bruised heel.

He gave a last kick for good measure. Regaining his balance, he saw the doorknob turn. The door opened and John Sullivan walked in, followed by Daniel and Septimus Reventlow.

“Take a seat,” said Reventlow.

Astor sat down. He observed that Sully was limping and that his face was swollen and inflamed, as if he’d been crying. Sully looked at him and offered a sad, weary smile. “I’m sor-”

A gunshot cut off the word. Sullivan dropped to the concrete floor, dead.

“Jesus,” said Astor, cringing. The boredom was gone. He was scared. “Why did you…what the…but he was helping you.”

Daniel slipped the Beretta into his waistband. He approached and knelt in front of Astor. The placid blue eyes looked into his. “Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“Please.”

Astor extended his left hand warily, and Daniel laid it palm down across his own, gently splaying the fingers. Astor didn’t see him insert the sliver of bamboo beneath his fingernail. A flame traveled through the finger up his arm and into his neck. He screamed, and as quickly the sliver was gone and the monk was patting his hand, holding a cloth to absorb the blood.

Astor looked from Daniel to Reventlow. “You didn’t ask me anything.”

“The questions will come,” said Reventlow. “Daniel needs to soften you up first. By the time he’s done, you’ll be begging to tell me everything you know.”